


The Fights Historical

by merelyafigment, visionofblue (merelyafigment)



Series: Two Paths Diverged [6]
Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Pre-Slash, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:21:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29702568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelyafigment/pseuds/merelyafigment, https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelyafigment/pseuds/visionofblue
Summary: Miguel Alvarez is overjoyed that he's gained some information that helps him stick it to Warden Glynn. When Beecher finds out this information has to do with a vicious attack on Glynn's daughter words are exchanged, show tunes are sung, and metaphors are discussed. The guys continue to navigate their strange relationship. (FollowsWizards In Oz)Warnings Note: Deals with the canon storyline involving the rape of Glynn's daughter, with mentions of Beecher's past with Schillinger. That's what the warning tags are for: I'm not introducing new horrors, merely mentioning canonical ones.
Relationships: Miguel Alvarez/Tobias Beecher
Series: Two Paths Diverged [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898122
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	The Fights Historical

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Notes:** We've reached the storyline with the rape of Glynn's daughter. Canonically, Alvarez was a complete asshole about it, who seemed to have no thoughts, concern, or sympathy for Glynn's daughter. Unfortunately, I didn't change that here, and stuck with him behaving abhorrently in the ways he did on the show. So be warned about that -- he's still a total dick about Glynn's daughter here, and I delve into his head, and his thought process behind his terrible behavior, but I don't fix it and make him a better person. (I sort of wanted to punch him the whole time I was writing this.) 
> 
> **WARNING:** for characters' severe insensitivity and callousness in regards to rape. And lots of discussion revolving around a canonical rape. (But with no graphic details about the attack, and no depiction of the attack since neither of these characters were there, and I'm certainly not showing/writing it.)
> 
>  **Notes Not Having To Do With Awful Things** : Title taken from the Pirates of Penzance "I am the very model of a modern Major-General". This remains a very slow burn. If you're expecting a hook up here, prepare to be disappointed. My thanks to [jackiesjunkie](/users/jackiesjunkie) for giving a much needed second opinion. (On Miguel being a dick.)

Now that? That definitely looked like a law book open in front of Beecher in the quiet library. Miguel might not be overly familiar with them, but he knew that no fucking way was that thick-spined boring beige thing full of fairytales. It had a slightly slimmer navy colored companion closed next to it, but Miguel was willing to bet they were basically the same type. 

"Yo." Miguel greeted as he took the chair across from Beecher, spinning it around to straddle it backwards. 

Tobias looked up at the thump of Miguel's ass hitting the hard seat. Fuck, every chair in here was hard and uncomfortable. Who knew one of the things he'd miss would be a fucking recliner? Even a ratty busted one would be nice. It was a long list, though, things to miss. And there were always new things popping up on it. 

Miguel was mostly distracted from his momentary musing on the shit they'd lost by watching Beecher be pretty amusing in a way which was pretty different than his norm. He hurriedly shut that massive book, and hurriedly flipped the long yellow pages of his notepad to cover whatever he'd been scribbling. And then he set the damn book on top of it. He continued by pushing the other book around a bit, like he was making a neat stack or something. There was a lot of hurrying and hiding going on, pretending to be tidying, was the point. All while Tobias looked up at him, only him, and not his own busy hands. Like the steady eye contact would keep Miguel from noticing the rest of it. 

It didn't. 

"Whatcha doing, Bowie?" Miguel drawled, the back of the chair thunking against the table as he tilted forward on two of its legs to peer at the titles. Yeah, again, he wasn't an expert, but those were definitely related to laws and procedures. 

"Nothing interesting. Merely refreshing my memory mostly. You know how they love to tell us how important it is to keep busy, idle hands and all." Previous flurry of hilariously weird motion aside, Beecher actually had a decent poker face. Excellent use of his bland white guy voice. 

"Uh-huh." Miguel's chair may have landed back down on all four of its legs, but he didn't shake with it. Miguel kept his gaze locked on Beecher's lying eyes (they looked lighter today, might be the blue shirt), and let his expression show how very much not a fucking moron who would ever buy that he was. "You know you suck at hiding shit, right? I mean, I'm sure you know, given how bad a job you're doing right now." 

"Ah, well. I'm not the only one failing to contain my emotions at the moment. You look positively gleeful." Beecher's smirk was warmer than one should be in here, maybe. As if he was happy to see Miguel's poorly hidden joy. 

Beecher clocked his mood perfectly, because Miguel wasn't obscuring anything at the moment. No reason to, especially not here. "Mm. Yep. Ain't even trying to hide it, baby. It's a good fucking day." 

"Is it ever a good day in here, really?" Beecher got distracted by pretending to ponder. 

Even that couldn't dampen Miguel's mood, so he just rolled his eyes. "Fine, you precise motherfucker -- I got _good news_ today." 

"Do tell, Miguel." 

Walked right into that one. For the second time and everything. Saying it still seemed to amuse Tobias, though, so it didn't bug Miguel. 

Miguel drummed out a beat on the table as his hips followed the swiveling rhythm in his chair. Couldn't contain it, his fucking _glee_. (Fucking Beecher, and his word choices.) "I got something on that motherfucker. That cocksucker... oh, he ain't happy. He's hurting. Bad. And my ass can just sit back and watch him fucking squirm." 

"While I'm glad you to hear something is going well for you, you're going to have to be more specific if you actually want me to know who you're talking about." The way Beecher said it -- it wasn't him fishing. It was like he was seeking clarity on whether Miguel meant to give him the details, or if it was something Miguel needed to keep vague. "There are plenty of motherfuckers in here, Miguel." 

"Got a point." Miguel conceded. 

They weren't quite alone. The Muslims were praying, and even Rebadow was occupied in the quad, so the library was _mostly_ empty. Except -- the librarian's hours had been reduced, not eliminated. 

Miguel caught her eye with a steady look, not his usual one that enticed the ladies closer, either. "Hey, don't you need pens? Or you're like running low on paper or something? You keep that shit in storage somewhere, right? Maybe now's a good time to go find it. I mean, it's pretty slow in here." He opened his arms wide to indicate the otherwise empty room. 

He wasn't talking to her like he usually would, either. That was not his charming voice. It was his no-nonsense, _how about you listen to my helpful suggestions on how to leave me the hell alone_ tone. But you know, slightly more polite. 

"Pens?" She raised an eyebrow, a little, and looked like she wanted to nudge the cup on her desk that yeah, definitely had pens in it. 

"Or you know, take your little cart and go collect some overdue books. Like everybody is just sitting around Em City right now. Good time to collect." He shaved a little more of the politeness and patience off his tone, leaning back a bit, arms straightening where his hands rested on the back of the chair. Like he was contemplating pushing off and getting up. 

"I'm pretty sure that last particular task is our fellow inmates' job." Beecher chimed in calmly. 

Miguel shot him a sideways glance. It was less polite, too 

"Fine. Maybe I'm wrong." Beecher acquiesced, still doing a bad job at pretending, really. 

She got up and moved. She didn't seemed scared, thankfully, but it did seem like she was seeing the wisdom in being away from them now. 

"I thought she was on your list of women in here you desired sexual congress with." Beecher waited a beat until she'd left to ask. 

Seriously, _Beecher and his words, man_. Miguel could tell the man chose them purely to entertain himself sometimes, like he was amused by the strangeness and formality rolling off his tongue. It amused Miguel most of the time, too. Miguel turned his attention from the closed door back to Tobias. "Yeah, but it's not like she's _high_ on it." Honestly? Most living and breathing women were currently on that list, but this particular one? She looked like she could practically be Beecher's aunt for one thing. "You're the one that asked a question I wasn't going to answer with her here. Besides, what was I gonna do? Bang her on the next table with you watching?" 

Beecher's expression did sort of a strange thing, and again it was different than his usual fucking strange behavior. Miguel couldn't peg it. Maybe Beecher also wanted to bang her and he didn't want to think about Miguel getting there first or something? Probably not, any more than Miguel had actually been thinking about nailing her. She wasn't really his type, but then your type kind of expanded pretty fucking wide in here. Still. He'd mostly just been talking shit. He maybe wouldn't have _turned it down_ , because she was still a women who'd be better than his fucking hand, but he wouldn't have pursued it. Seriously, he could've _charmed_ her ass into leaving, but that wasn't the route he'd chosen. 

"Thank you for not doing that, by the way." Beecher's wry reply didn't really offer much of a clue as far as what thoughts in Beecher's brain had led to his previous fleeting expression. Also, it was long gone and Beecher just looked normal now. (For him, and his crazy beard, anyway.) 

Miguel tried one last stab at deciphering it. "That your thing or something -- watching?" Kept his voice curious, because it wasn't like he was judging. 

Shaking his head, Beecher's laughter was weak and a bit surprised. That guess was wrong, clearly. "No. No, it really isn't." 

"Okay. Good to know. 'Cause if it was, I could've just gone right on ahead next time." Miguel teased with an easy grin, entertained even though he hadn't been able to figure out what weird thought had popped into Tobias's head. 

"Is that _your_ thing, Miguel?" Beecher eyed him, playing along. 

He caused Miguel's huff of almost laughter. "Being watched? Nah, man. Don't really care either, though. Too focused on who I'm with to notice or give a shit if anybody's peeping." 

This was true, and also something Miguel had no reason to hide. Hadn't even really delivered the news that was uplifting his mood yet, and he was still enjoying shooting the shit with Beecher, following the man's strange paths. 

"I believe your prior happiness had to do with motherfuckers, not fucking." Beecher prompted, finally bringing them back on that path. 

He must've really wanted to know. Like he cared about the rare bright spots in Miguel's shitty days. This bright spot was vicious, Miguel knew that, but it warmed him anyway. Sometimes warmth in here was cruel, and that was something they both knew. 

"It's Glynn." Miguel was still grinning, but it felt sharp, his cheeks sore with it. 

"Did _you_ shit in his cornflakes? I'll admit, I'm impressed. I'm also disappointed in myself for not figuring out how to achieve it first." Beech was in a good mood too, and maybe, maybe it was because Miguel was. Or maybe a Nazi had gotten attacked, and Miguel just hadn't heard about that yet. He'd been busy ferreting out his own information. 

"Nah, it's much better, baby. I didn't even have to lift a fucking finger. The universe or whatever got off its useless ass for once and paid him back for abusing his fucking power." The beat of his fingers on the table joined the clunk of the chair back against it as Miguel leaned forward again. He didn't have to keep the joy in his voice low and conspiratorial, they were alone now, but it came out that way anyway. "He's the powerless one now. Somebody raped his daughter. And _I know exactly who it was_. Just me -- Glynn's got no clue. And I'm not ever going to tell his ass shit. I can let him suffer in his own fucking Hole." 

Beecher sort of... stilled. He wasn't grinning, he was watching Miguel. "Glynn's daughter was raped?" 

Miguel nodded, biting his lower lip lightly with his affirmative noise, pleased even without his grin. "She's still in the hospital. And I? Just talked to the motherfucker who did it on the phone. He's walking free." 

Yeah, Beecher was really fucking thoughtfully regarding him now. 

It didn't matter. It was revenge. It was -- Glynn fucking deserved it. Him, robbing Miguel of his time, his family. His fucking hands around Miguel's fucking throat, all that weight on top of him. All that rage crushing Miguel, when Miguel hadn't done dick to deserve it. Miguel knew what was behind it all now, and it only pissed him off more. It made it worse. Some guys had attacked Glynn's daughter and that corrupt motherfucker had grabbed the first Latino that had annoyed him, to punish them instead. To focus all his anger on. Because he could. 

And Miguel? Couldn't do dick. He had to go where he was told to go, stand where he was told to stand, and be crushed under the fucking Warden, gasping for air, choking on it all, unable to escape. Tossed naked in a little room to rot. For no reason, having done nothing. Just because he was under Glynn's thumb and the fucking actual culprit wasn't. 

Well. Fuck that. Miguel had some power now, and he was going to watch it crush Glynn -- the pain of his family being hurt and his impotence in being unable to punish the right person. Served him right. 

"She's still in the hospital?" Beecher sounded closed off, like those eyes which-- maybe they were catching the light differently, with Tobias leaning back in his chair while Miguel still leaned forward across the table --they seemed darker. Less blue, more steely. "And you're the only person in Oz who knows the identity of the perpetrator, I take it?" 

Beecher should get it better than anyone. The shit he'd pulled with Schillinger -- he hadn't just taken advantage of an opportunity to hurt his enemy, he'd manufactured one. 

Fuck that, Beecher should understand. 

"Yep." The pop at the end of Miguel's word joined the clatter of all four legs rejoining the floor as he leaned back from the table again. He rested his arms over the chair back, watching Beecher closely now, too. Didn't seem so happy for him anymore, maybe. Fuck that, seriously. "Not like I did it, man. Didn't even know about it until the deed was done. I'm sure as shit going to use it to make his ass pay, though. You know what he did to me." Miguel spoke calmly, but he was more serious now, leaving that joy behind. 

This was revenge, the only kind Miguel could get against someone with so much power over him, and he was going to fucking take it. He was going to stick it right to that motherfucker, just sit back and watch him twist when he could've eased the man's mind. 

"I do." Beecher nodded slowly. "I wasn't aware his daughter had anything to do with it." 

"Fuck that, Tobias." Miguel dismissed easily. "He was punishing me for shit I had nothing to do with! His self-righteous ass attacked me! The fucking Hacks practically had to pull him off. It ain't about her -- he needs to fucking suffer for his bullshit." 

"That, I get. I understand that only too well." Beecher agreed solemnly. Miguel didn't really like how those steel blue eyes were focused on him now, the contemplation aimed at him. "So, this is why you're so happy you're practically glowing?" 

"You have a problem with that all of a sudden, Beecher?" It was Miguel's turn to lean a bit and watch, only one arm outstretched, the other resting on the chair back, hands no longer tapping out a beat. 

Beecher did that thing, Miguel recognized it well by now, where he turned inward, scoping out the twisted paths in his brain, pondering them. This time, he was maybe pondering Miguel, too. Miguel hadn't come in here to be examined like this. 

"I don't know. I should, shouldn't I? I mean, on one hand -- now, revenge is an urge I can get behind. I can't even say I wouldn't feel the same, can I?" Beecher spoke carefully, but it didn't sound good for Miguel. Didn't look great for him either, when those eyes focused out of Tobias's head and directly on him. "Your _good news_ is that there's a traumatized girl in a hospital bed, whose suffering you're enjoying... because her Dad is an asshole." He said it all slowly like he was forming thoughts beyond Miguel's view. 

Yeah, Miguel was pretty sure those thoughts should go fuck themselves. That made Miguel sound like-- it wasn't like that. It wasn't about her. Miguel had nothing to do with that. His only concern was fucking over Glynn, who did deserve to be fucked over. And none of Beecher's thoughtful little words would convince him otherwise. 

Something broke, in the air and on Tobias's face. A soft broken laugh came out on a sigh, the kind of amusement that wasn't remotely fucking amusing. "Wow. I have the shittiest taste in friends. I have absolutely zero ... I'm the worst judge of character." Miguel got a break from those eyes on him as Beecher shook his head, just as softly as his fucked up laugh had been. "You know, when I first got here I followed Vern into his pod like a big dumb dog because I thought he was nice, that he was helping me?" Beecher words still had that undercurrent of laughter, which Miguel really didn't like the sound of. 

And he returned to looking right at Miguel while he did it. Beecher wasn't being sharp-edged or harsh or-- it wasn't an attack. It was the sound of finding out a new way the universe was fucking with you, or how stupid some shit was that you had done, and being so blown away you couldn't help but laugh. Quiet and bitter and surprised at your own stupidity or the world's cruelty. 

The scrape of Beecher's chair was louder than his voice had been, as he pushed away from the table to stand up. "Or maybe... hell, maybe _I'm_ just the worst person. You really think I would've learned by now -- there is no nice. I think maybe you should go talk to someone else, Alvarez." Beecher stayed on the other side of the table. Miguel knew this side of him, too -- that fucked up, almost mocking detachment. "I'm sure you'll find plenty of guys willing to get a good chuckle out of screwing over the warden's raped daughter." 

It was the delivery that hit Miguel even more than the words. It was weirdly cheery and light amidst all its sharp edges. No angry ranting, just pure crazy Beecher, the kind that paraded through Emcity all the time to keep everyone at a safe distance. It wasn't the way Tobias talked to _him_. Miguel used to find it entertaining, but he suddenly fucking hated it. Sure, Beecher still acted a little bugs with him, because Beecher was a little bugs. But this was the full on detached mask, spinning away into the rubble on his own, with no trace of the other parts of Beecher Miguel knew were behind it now. 

Miguel seriously. Fucking. Hated it. (How much surprised even Miguel.) 

It brought him up out of his chair, too, the clatter caused by his quick movement under his rough voice. "Fuck you. Come on, man. It's not like I did dick to her. It's already done, and I told you -- had nothing to do with it. Didn't even hear about it 'til after. You fucking know he deserves--" 

Beecher didn't flinch, didn't look away. (Didn't agree or give in, either.) What he did do? Give a jaunty little salute. Not like their usual fucking around, but like-- fuck, like Miguel was just any other fucker in here. 

"Goodbye, Alvarez. I mean, I'll be seeing ya!" Beecher's arms swept out in a grand gesture indicating the prison they were both trapped in, still full of dark bitter glee and twisted humor. "But goodbye." Beecher shifted for just a second, and held Miguel's eyes steadily, sane, only for that brief repetition. 

It sounded final. Like whatever weird little friendship, whatever connection they'd found in the smoldering ashes of the riot, was done. Severed. 

Like the tip of a fucking dick. 

Beecher literally spun away from him then, walking off belting out something really annoying. Loudly, and with an insanely quick rhythm that was just-- like the song was made to be irritating. 

"Oh, FUCK YOU, Beecher!" Miguel called out after him, just as loud, but definitely not fucking singing. "That's a motherfucking show tune, ain't it?!"

* * *

If Beecher needed confirmation that he and Alvarez kept crossing paths because Alvarez wanted them to, it came over the next couple of days. 

Granted, in the past they could go a week or two without talking at all, even in passing. So, in the grand scheme of things, two days not talking was not unusual in the slightest. But this time Alvarez was clearly avoiding him. 

Miguel was avoiding the library and the computer room, for one thing. While they weren't generally the free time activities Alvarez indulged in the most, he did partake of both frequently enough. He was a inquisitive man who could get bored, after all. Plus, there was a woman in the library half the time. She may have been older than Beecher possibly, but she was still a rare female who had the added bonus of not being a glaring Hack. She didn't smell bad, either. Sort of like tea, books, and the outside. (Beecher spent a fair amount of time in the library.) 

It's not like they ever chatted in the gym, but again, Miguel was ignoring him entirely there, too. Not one word, even the brief casual kind that occasionally passed between everyone who was working out at the same time. (Prison was boring, and lonely, always. People would randomly shoot the shit even with those outside their circle whenever and wherever, really.) 

The avoidance was its most pointedly clear when Peter Marie sent Beecher on another thinly-veiled errand to the hospital ward. (He had a feeling those were going to be a regular thing now that O'Reily had cancer. The nun was probably going to run out of files and boxes for him to ferry there, or start to annoy Dr. Nathan with them. Assuming she wasn't in on the scheme.) Beecher did not mind if the visits continued, though, even if Ryan had spent most of this time bitching about how annoying _his wife's bitching_ was in regards to the prison system not shelling out the money for the more effective surgery. 

Beecher was sort of with her on that one. Just another fun little reminder that once you were locked away, your life had far less value to those outside, especially those holding the purse strings. (There had also been some delightful hissed death threats from Ryan, in the event of Beecher ever considering revealing to anyone exactly what type of cancer he had. Since Tobias had no intention of doing so, he merely found them amusing.) 

But he'd seen neither hide nor hair of Miguel the entire time, despite the man ostensibly being on work detail. (Beecher was also aware Miguel took his job seriously, so he knew the man had to be there somewhere, rather than skipping out somehow. He just somehow magically avoided the area Beecher was in.) 

Honestly, Tobias had originally intended to avoid Alvarez after their last little library discussion, but it turned out rather handily that he didn't need to even try. Beecher was a bit busy himself, partially because he maybe got an inkling of an idea about something he could look into that had nothing to do with Alvarez, after his errand that was clearly a visit with O'Reily. 

Beecher noticed how much more alone he felt during those days. It was strange, given that he'd been entirely on his own since the riot, so he should be used to it. But it was also being made very clear that he was used to stealing snatches of conversation with Alvarez. 

No, not conversation, really. As previously mentioned, most inmates conversed, even the ones floating without a group. 

What they had been stealing wasn't just words. It was space to breathe. Laughter that wasn't cruel. Empathy. Sympathy. Rambling thoughts that didn't have to be carefully crafted to maintain a reputation or a protective mask. Company. True company, not the random card games and chats that loneliness and boredom led them all to sharing with each other. 

That was what Beecher had walked away from, throwing out one last show tune to agitate Alvarez, like Beecher had been agitated. 

And he was surprised now by how much he felt the lack. He hadn't felt this truly alone in a while, possibly. 

Had he meant to walk away for good, in that moment, when he'd wondered briefly, among many other things, if O'Reily had been infuriatingly right all along and maybe Beecher should've been warier of Alvarez? 

You couldn't know people, not fully, especially in here. This was a lovely and complicated reminder.

Underneath, or possibly wound intrinsically around, everything he knew about Miguel's other depths was another, incredibly dark one -- his capability for pure joy and revelry over the suffering of his enemies. This was something they shared. But in this case it involved the immense pain and suffering of an innocent. A young girl. Miguel didn't even see her, didn't pretend to care, so swept up in-- 

\--Beecher partially understood it, really. Maybe that fact shook him as well. He felt the same way, didn't he? Wouldn't he hurt anyone to hurt Schillinger? In his recent revenge on the man, it had happened to be himself in harm's way rather than an innocent, but still. 

Glynn's daughter was older than Cathy Rockwell by far presumably, from the now swirling rumors he'd heard, but the disgust inside of him at Miguel's joy had a painful counterpoint that made Tobias further disgusted with himself -- on one level he understood. He could see why Miguel didn't care, why he was happy with Glynn's suffering. Tobias hated that part of himself, maybe. He was disgusted with both of them, maybe. 

But yes, he understood getting revenge for one's own pain eclipsing everything else. Didn't mean he had to like it, this part of Alvarez. It could still make him angry. The horrified rage at hurting someone innocent that he knew so well, because it could also be directed at himself. 

Alvarez was dangerous. He could be hateful, violent, downright cruel. 

And so could Beecher, he'd discovered in here. 

O'Reily was concerned Beecher was in danger. (In his own special, abrasive way.) For a sudden moment, maybe Beecher had been worried about it, too. And it had carried him away on a wave of irritating song. He remembered, too, forever and always and branded right into his skin -- the way some people in here had been callously amused by what had happened to him. So yeah, Miguel's joy in the library had maybe pissed him off a bit personally, too. 

But no. Of the things he had to fear from Alvarez... no. Tobias wasn't in danger from him, of any type. Miguel and Tobias both had such darkness, but it wasn't directed at each other. It hurt to look at it, maybe, on Miguel's face. But it was all Miguel Alvarez. The same man who kept seeking him out. Talking to him in a way more direct and real than all the usual gossip, posturing, and idle chatter in here. Warning him, about danger from others. Keeping him company. Showing him those other depths, playful, thoughtful, and containing warmth and light, as well as cold dark. 

Beecher had let the darkness sweep him away, momentarily. But he possibly didn't want to stay away. Couldn't blame the man for his ugliness, could he? When Tobias had so much of his own. Miguel was more than that, that crowing triumph over another's pain. (And again, even that Tobias knew all too well.) 

Miguel was much more than that indeed, even if not everyone saw it. Tobias certainly did. 

Beecher was hiding other, stranger things in the depths as well, though. It maybe didn't help, Miguel's thrusting, his comments about the librarian that had put fresh images in Tobias's head. Again. But it was becoming very clear this was the fault of Tobias's brain, not Miguel's occasionally dirty ruminations. 

Yes, there were also definitely parts of Beecher of which Alvarez was unaware. 

Maybe Beecher was a little crazy, in more than one way. 

He maybe also... no, Alvarez wasn't someone he wanted to push away for good. 

Maybe Tobias was crazy and stupid. 

Maybe he wasn't. 

He was going to keep the unfortunate thrusting images to himself, though. That's not-- that still wasn't what Alvarez was. Not to him. 

He was someone to share something with in here -- the good, the bad, and the ugly. 

The man's fairly dirty mouth and mind, and the things they provoked in Beecher's imagination were something else. Which, yeah, probably best to ignore that. He wasn't-- Tobias liked women. And so definitely did Miguel. Tobias didn't want to consider why that was maybe changing at the moment. For him, possibly, anyway. (Also definitely not for Miguel, at least consciously.) 

But ignoring all of that was different than ignoring Alvarez entirely. 

They'd been avoiding each other for days. 

Beecher knew, those days were even harder than usual for in here. 

Because of the lack of whatever exactly it was they were stealing together in their calm, amusing moments away from everything else. 

By the time Tobias has started to settle things in his head and feel what he was missing, what he'd walked away from, the grinding gossip mill was all aflutter about Alvarez being dragged away by Glynn for questioning. 

Then? Beecher's worry briefly overtook everything else. Few people knew the whole story of Miguel's previous encounter with the Warden, but Tobias was one of them. The man had assaulted and punished Miguel when he hadn't even done anything wrong. Now that the Warden had an actual reason to unleash some rage on Miguel? It could end incredibly badly. 

While it was a nice relief to see Alvarez returned to Em City in one piece quickly after his second brush with Glynn, Beecher had come to some conclusions. 

He'd stop avoiding Alvarez, the good and the bad, the entire flawed person Tobias was lucky enough to know better than most in here. 

If Alvarez ever stopped avoiding him.

* * *

There were other people in the gym with Miguel, but he didn't really see them. They were shadows, no reason to pay attention unless they stepped close. They weren't getting close, because he was hitting the bag hard for one thing, clearly not to be interrupted. Chico and Jorge were nearby, too. But they were also only shadows, back up only if he needed them. 

He might be pouring out his frustrations, and it felt fucking good, but look at him -- hitting _the bag_. Not a person. Sure as shit not a person he had control over and was supposed to be responsible for. With a fucking hack baton. Oh, but no -- that guy? The one who would do that shit? He was on the other side of the bars. He was the fucking Warden -- pretending he was righteous and not just an angry asshole who abused his power. 

The fucking Warden had been prepared to force the information he wanted out of Miguel. Fuck _prepared_ , the man had _wanted_ to unleash his anger on Miguel again. Sure, Miguel had riled him, with his mouth that was fucking fantastic at getting him into trouble, but he'd done it on purpose. He'd used his taunting words to stab some pain into that motherfucker the only way he could, being in the position he was, under Glynn's control. That was part of the point -- that asshole was supposed to be able to control himself, and he couldn't. Judging them for shit, when he wanted to turn to violence, too. The only reason -- the _only_ reason -- that Miguel wasn't beat to shit right now was the Padre. 

Who also wasn't happy with Miguel, at fucking all, but who would never do that. Father Ray made disapproving faces, pleaded, judged, and lectured. (Or he just disappeared, like after the riot.) He didn't choke. He didn't hit. He didn't crush people under his boots. He'd tried to protect Miguel, with his own body. Even when he didn't approve of Miguel's actions. Now, Father Ray was a man who was on the side of the bars he was supposed to be on, with the respect he deserved. 

Fuck, nobody was happy with Miguel right now, really. His boys, maybe. That was about it. 

Beecher -- well, Beecher was being a self righteous dick, too. 

Except for how maybe he wasn't, Miguel was forced to confront as he poured out all of his energy onto the solid resistance of the bag, frustration flowing out of him like the sweat he was working up. 

He hadn't thought -- he just hadn't thought, you know? About maybe it not being a great idea to bring up rape like that with Tobias. Because Miguel didn't think of him that way, not anymore. He hadn't connected the similarities. 

Yeah, maybe Tobias had a good fucking reason to get pissed over Miguel happily rejoicing in Glynn's misfortune, over Miguel's _glee_ , when it got a little close to the M.O. of those Nazi fucks. They didn't just prag a guy after all -- they loved laughing about it, really rubbing it in joyfully. 

Plus, fuck -- the little girl Beecher had killed in his accident. Glynn's daughter? Not a little girl. The way Miguel heard it, she was maybe in college or something. Still. That probably cut a little close to the bone for Beecher, too. 

Miguel hadn't really been thinking about Glynn's daughter at all. Wasn't about her for him. It was about the Warden. 

Except. Yeah, as fucking Beecher pointed out, Glynn wasn't exactly the one in the hospital. (And Miguel had _seen_ how vicious an attack had to be to land and keep your ass in a hospital. He worked there, after all.) 

Yeah, okay. Maybe Tobias, and the Padre, were not overjoyed with Miguel's behavior for actual legitimate reasons. Miguel didn't have to entirely agree to see that. 

Miguel hadn't cared who would be unhappy with him, at all, when he'd made that phone call and heard what went down with Glynn's family. 

Unfortunately, he kind of cared _now_. (Not about Glynn, that cocksucker could still go fuck himself. Almost beating the information out of Miguel, sliding to that action so easily, proved Miguel had a point about that bastard.) 

But Miguel was starting to maybe see _their_ point about _him_.

* * *

Miguel knew why he was in the library. He was actually reading, sure, but he wasn't entirely focused. He hadn't been interested in books in days. He'd known Beecher had visited O'Reily's ass in the hospital ward again days ago for some reason, while Miguel was on duty. But he hadn't investigated. He hadn't talked to him. Not even to warn him away from the sneakily dangerous Mick, a-fucking-gain. 

Miguel had still been stewing, and he knew better than anyone that he shouldn't be around people --not the people who mattered-- when he was in that kind of mood. He could say shit that he couldn't take back. He'd been full of anger, and that sometimes blinded him a bit. 

Now, there was more than anger. Sure, he wasn't fine or anything. That was impossible in here, especially after the Warden had fucking flexed on him again. But Miguel wasn't-- he could understand now. He could talk, civilly. 

He was in the library. 

Waiting. 

To see if anyone spun back in. 

_Fuuck._ Miguel shook his head softly at the page of his book, which he hadn't been fully focused on. Yeah, bugs -- he was bugs. He missed-- 

Miguel was sitting at the right angle, the right spot, to see the door open when Beecher entered. He looked away immediately, eyes on words on a page, book gripped firmly in his hands. He wasn't loose, but he wasn't looking. 

Beecher's voice was clearly directed at him, he just knew, even though he sounded like he was standing a bit away from Miguel's table. "You appear to be spending a lot of time reading today. Everyone else is happily watching the poor limping antelopes get eaten by the apex predators." 

Miguel looked up finally, like maybe that information was what caught his interest. "Something happen to somebody?" 

Beecher rolled his eyes, watching him with a completely different expression than the one he'd worn the last time they'd talked. It was more like the wry, comfortable one Miguel had grown used to than the one everyone else saw. "Nature show, Alvarez. I was being literal, not making an Oz is the wild animal kingdom metaphor." 

"So, what, you're judging how I spend all my free time now?" Miguel's expression? He wasn't going back to that so easily just yet. He shrugged one shoulder, a bit confrontational and fine with that. "I'm not fucking illiterate, you know. I like to read." 

Beecher didn't move closer, just gave a slight nod. "I'm well aware. I also know you like those nature shows as much as everyone else. Almost as much as you like watching Miss Sally bounce." Beecher wasn't letting him shrug anything off, keeping his clever gaze on Miguel. "And yet, I keep finding you here when nobody else is." 

"You like that shit, too. Well, the dying bambi bits not so much. But you followed me the fuck in here. I don't see a book in your hand." Miguel pointed out. Yeah, Beecher wasn't here to read, and he wasn't even trying to hide it. Like Miguel. Holding his stupid book, that honestly at the moment he had no interest in. He wasn't looking away from Beecher now. 

"I never claimed to want to read." Beecher stated calmly. "I did indeed come to talk to you. But I did it because it looked like you wanted me too." 

Shit, just laid it all out there. 

Miguel watched him carefully. "That's a lot of fucking honesty for in here, Beecher. You shouldn't call out shit like that when you see it. Might piss a guy off." 

But not Miguel. Not here, with Tobias. That-- that wasn't them. Miguel knew that, and it kept his words from having any edge. 

Beecher was the one half-heartedly shrugging now. "I can leave if you're that pissed off. I trusted that we could set aside that kind of posturing for a moment." 

Miguel's scoff was weak, but it was still there. "You sure you want to go trusting me like that?" 

Beecher had spun away, fucking singing his annoying bullshit, because he'd seen one of Miguel's uglier sides. He'd said _goodbye_. 

"Well, I do make poor choices." Beecher's smirk was half-hearted, too. "That's been established. But I don't think this is one of them. Is it?" 

Fucking Beecher, stripping away all pretenses. 

Miguel's lack of argument, of anything dismissive, was as good as agreement. He didn't say the words, but Beecher could trust him that much. The fact that Miguel was still talking to him, and that yes, he was sitting here reading when he really did enjoy that nature documentary shit (they were informative, plus you got to watch animals run impressively and then get shredded) was proof enough. It sort of irritated him that Beecher not only fucking knew that, but said it out loud. He just wasn't sure if he was irritated with Beecher, though, or with himself for playing stupid games and hiding the fact that he wanted to hash shit out with Tobias. Hiding it like a pussy. He didn't unleash that irritation on Beecher, keeping it inside instead. Man had a point after all. 

Tobias had also sort of just made a pretty strong statement about posturing between the two of them, too. So... 

"Nope. It's not." Miguel sighed and closed his book. At least Beecher wasn't rubbing Miguel's stupid behavior in his face. 

Miguel hadn't even been sure-- he'd been a little surprised when Beecher had come in, wanting to talk to him again. Fuck, he'd been relieved. He wasn't telling Tobias that, though. "I remember a pretty dramatic goodbye there, Bowie. Thought you were done wanting to talk to me, so why did you come?" 

Beecher's smirk sort of shifted, like his eye color seemed to, into something more like a grin. Maybe it held a bit of wryness directed at Tobias himself this time. "I can be a little melodramatic." 

"No shit." Miguel agreed, immediately, but he wasn't trying to be harsh. 

"I was dealing with a few different issues. I'm confronting some things." Tobias explained. 

"I figured." 

Beecher finally stepped closer, but he stayed standing, hands resting temporarily on the back of the chair. Like he would easily leave. "If you want to talk, I want to talk to you." 

"Sit your ass down and stop looming over me." Miguel directed gruffly, to cover-- look, he wasn't always as direct as Beecher. Not with shit like this. "You're not intimidating me, so stop trying." Turned it into a bit of a joke. 

Beecher didn't call him on it, just dragged the chair out, sitting without hesitation. 

"You know what I'm doing!" Miguel leaned forward to quietly hiss. Look, not as direct, sure, but he was done dancing around things. Couldn't let Beecher think he was the mature one or something -- dude still sang nursery rhymes. "You're the fucking same! That shit with Schillinger -- making him fucking pay, making that bastard suffer, that mattered more to you than anything. You couldn't let him the fuck go. Even though he's gonna come after your ass now." 

"This is true." Tobias not disagreeing with him surprised Miguel a bit again. He still just looked like he was considering things, like he really just wanted to talk shit out. "Maybe it's just that we see others better than ourselves. Maybe because it's not my pain this time, I have an outside view on the behavior." Beecher stayed steady, eyes on him, like communicating with him actually mattered. "I do understand, Miguel. Wanting to watch him burn. Wanting to take someone apart." 

Miguel's responding humorless snort held far less derision than it could've. He was just... he was kind of worn out from all the shit. And he was maybe starting to realize that usually? Talking with Tobias gave him a distraction from that. Maybe even a bit of relief. "Yeah, you seemed real understanding there, Bowie. What with you being all dramatic and-- you broke our fucking deal again." 

There was that wry not-quite-a-grin again. The real one, not anything fake like Beecher used to push motherfuckers away from him. "Well, I was annoyed." 

"You were _annoying_ , you mean." Miguel's grin? Yeah, that felt real, too. Like a deep breath taken when you needed it. "I mean-- really sincerely irritating. What the hell even was that? I know it was a fucking show tune, fucking had to be. But what the hell?" 

"It was from the Pirates Of Penzance. You know, I'm actually proud of myself for remembering as many of the words as I did." Beecher looked a little proud, yeah, and also a little crazy, but the quiet kind, the kind that was still genuine, just weary. 

"Don't be fucking proud of that." Miguel raised an eyebrow, in real offense. (Seriously, that song had offended his ass, it was so annoying.) "The what?! No fucking pirate would-- you sing that shit around a pirate? He'd slash your ass in half." 

Laughter barely there in the air, quick and muted, but it was maybe coming from both of them. 

Unfortunately, their shit wasn't entirely sorted, and Miguel knew, could see it in Beecher's returning serious gaze, that they weren't done yet. 

"I'm aware I'm in no position to judge or advise. But in this one case, Miguel, I have a tiny bit of perspective that you don't." Still quiet, still... close. Like actually close, almost, with Tobias leaning forward to speak, arms resting on the table between them. "I don't seem to remember Glynn raping and branding you for one thing, but you know, maybe I missed that part." 

Miguel knew. He knew all this. And deep down, yeah, he also knew how many fucks he hadn't given back when Tobias had been going through hell back then. Shit, he hadn't cared, and hadn't respected-- _shit_. Yeah, Miguel could be a dick sometimes. His Moms sure as shit knew that, and didn't let him forget it, but Maritza had, too. Thing was? He regretted it now. He knew Tobias now. He-- fuck, he respected him now, really. 

Miguel sighed, and it sounded equal parts weary and reluctant even to him. "You going to lecture me again?" 

Not that he'd technically lectured the first time, at least not in a coherent way. Beecher's displeasure had been perfectly fucking clear, though. 

"No." Beecher just stayed, still and near, all eye contact and sincerity. Most people in here? Miguel wouldn't have listened. But just as the priest had become someone he sort of took into consideration, so had Beecher. Some fucking how. "I'll just say one more thing." 

Miguel sucked it up and gestured for him to continue, hand barely moving from where it also rested on the table. 

"I killed a little girl, Alvarez. ... Should I feel better about that if her dad was a dick?" 

Fuck. It was-- Tobias hadn't raised his voice, and he wasn't-- look, he wasn't being an asshole about it, all right? Tobias was clearly still just trying to communicate, calmly. His last word on the subject was a real swift kick to the fucking guts, though. Beecher definitely had some vicious hidden talents, and honestly it's one of the things Miguel liked about him. 

They let the silence sit for a minute, because Miguel wasn't blowing him off. Even if he didn't entirely agree, even if he still wanted to stick it to the crooked Warden, he was still sitting here, hearing Tobias out. And Tobias was still here, too, no longer spinning away. 

But just sitting in serious contemplation wasn't entirely them either. They? Were a little fucking twisted. So after a minute of that shared meditation or whatever, Miguel threw out a little twist. It was hushed, too, almost an offering to get them out of this shit. A real fucked up one, but hey, they could be real fucked up. "Was he a dick?"

Beecher's laughter was a bit weak again, but he was right there with Miguel now. "I have no idea. I mean, towards me? Yes. He was positively dickish. I'm sure he'd be _overjoyed_ at all I've suffered in here, much like his wife. But that is also what I deserve. I quite earned his wrath." 

Probably wasn't the time to argue that, but Miguel could have discussed some of that with him, too, maybe. Did Beecher deserve it for accidentally hitting a kid because he was drunk off his ass? What did Miguel deserve, for fucking around with drugs and messing up his future kid? 

Not today, though. They'd had enough serious shit in their cornflakes. And Miguel sort of had his own amends to make, to Tobias, at least. 

Beecher had looked away with his bitter twisted-humor-filled observation, but Miguel drew blue eyes back to his brown. Miguel turned solemn, needing Tobias to see nobody was laughing about what he had to say next. "I shouldn't have -- not with you. All the shit you've been through, I get why you got pissed off at me. I do, man. I should've been more careful with you." 

It felt like the fucking confessional, almost. His words even came out lowly, maybe a bit hesitant. Normally you didn't say shit like that in here -- being _careful_ with someone? Nope. Not the fucking norm, and definitely not words you spoke directly to anybody. 

But they definitely weren't fucking normal, were they? 

Beecher regarded him for a moment, before he nodded slightly in acceptance of his almost apology. Thankfully, he apparently wasn't going to fucking torture Miguel by talking about it further. 

When Tobias finally did speak, the upward quirk had a bit more twist to it. Not serious, no. "Well. I did make you pay." 

Miguel let out a huff of amusement. "Yeah. Fucked up pirates, man." There was still a hushed quality to their words, but the weight wasn't as heavy. Miguel shook a finger at him in warning, but it definitely wasn't serious either. "We'll call it even this time, you breaking our fucking deal. Don't go singing that awful pirate shit again, though." 

Beecher's slow and steady nod? Also not at all fucking serious. "I give you my word." 

Bullshit. Motherfucker had already broken the deal twice. "I don't trust your ass with that no more, man." Miguel's small grin fell away quickly, though. 

They weren't... things weren't really settled until they were clear, were they? 

Miguel's gaze left those eyes, more hazel today, caught between green and blue. He watched his own fingers instead, idly picking at a little groove in the wooden table. Had somebody tried to carve something and been caught before they got anywhere? Or was it just wear and tear from shitty maintenance and years of thoughtlessly rough use? 

"I'm gonna let him twist, Beecher." Felt low and rough as it sounded, coming out of him. "I'm not giving up what I know. Not with how he treated me, just because he fucking can." 

He was actually a little less resolved in that, at the moment. Maybe... maybe he should consider letting Glynn's daughter, whoever she was, have the right target for her hate. Maybe she should be able to get a little vengeance of her own one day, though it wouldn't be nearly as crazed and creative as Beecher's, just the usual cops and judges. It's not like Miguel knew the guy who did it personally other than the one phone call, they weren't even boys or anything. Just a guy known by a guy Miguel vaguely knew. Miguel believed in loyalty to his guys, but... did that loyalty stretch on for fucking ever outside of that? But he still wasn't going to tell Tobias he was going to do something he probably wouldn't end up doing. Wasn't going to make a promise he wasn't sure he would keep. 

"Okay." 

Miguel looked up at the still steady response. Didn't sound like he was blowing Miguel off. Sounded like he meant it, but-- Beecher had said goodbye, and it had felt fucking final. They had to-- that had to be put to rest, too. 

"So, what? Because I don't want to play nice with the scumbag who shit on me, we can't be friends anymore?" Miguel queried evenly. It was partially that, too, making him as gruff as his words -- Tobias had disagreed and then fucked right off. Been a real asshole about it, too. Okay, maybe not as much of an asshole as Miguel, but Miguel hadn't been an asshole to _Beecher_. And when Beecher had been balls to the wall with his revenge? Alvarez had been in Beecher's corner on the whole Schillinger plan, eventually. Well. He still didn't like how dangerous it was, but he'd understood it and told the man so. 

This? This was part of who Alvarez was. (Miguel had thought it was part of both of them, really, given Beecher's feelings regarding fucking Schillinger.) This was a thing he was deliberately doing. He wanted that fucking Warden to pay, and he was happy he was suffering. Even now. Miguel may have grown a couple of annoying regrets for how he'd handled things, but he didn't feel bad about Glynn's pain, and he wasn't going to pretend to. If Beecher thought Miguel was somebody different, someone more pure and rose-colored... or if he didn't want to talk to him anymore over this. Well. He'd just have to let Alvarez go then, because Miguel wasn't going to sugarcoat or lie. 

Didn't want him to walk away again, though. Hadn't felt great when the Padre had done it the first time, and it sure as shit wouldn't feel good this time either. Might be worse. 

Fuck. Had to stop lying to himself like a pussy. It _would_ be worse. 

"Are we friends, Alvarez?" Tobias said it like it was a genuine question, all thoughtful. Wasn't being his occasionally crazy dick self, he was actually curious. 

"Fucking...maybe? Fuck. That's not really a thing that exists in here, Beecher." Miguel stopped picking at the crack in the table he could still feel, even when he was looking at Beecher instead. Ran his other hand over the back of his neck as he sighed. This truth? Was also fucked up. "Yeah, we are. Maybe not anymore, if you're going to throw a fit over how I handle my own business." It was more weary than he wanted it to sound, missing any trace of being a threat or a warning. 

Because maybe they wouldn't be any more not because Alvarez would walk away (certainly not singing a fucking show tune), but because Tobias would. 

"I didn't throw a fit. I just temporarily walked away from you." Tobias's mouth tugged up a little, barely, as he eyed Miguel with a hint of amusement. 

See? Kind of a dick. 

(Dick that Miguel had missed talking to.) 

"Didn't sound real temporary there, hermano." Miguel pointed out, a bit judgmentally, because Tobias kind of deserved it. He'd said some nasty shit before singing the world's most annoying show tune. Been pretty fucking judgy himself. 

It was like Beecher knew that, because he sighed wearily, too. He looked maybe a little apologetic. "Yeah, well, I was working through some things, like I said. It was clearly temporary, what with me hunting you down and all." 

"Don't act dumb in ways you aren't, Tobias." Miguel shook his head in negation. "Said it yourself -- I was right here, missing a show I actually enjoy. Practically gave you a fucking map. You didn't hunt down dick." 

Miguel had wanted to talk, to work things out, and Tobias had _known_. Because they-- fuck, they knew each other. A little. More than most in here. 

"Were you really that annoyed that I might not want to talk to you anymore?" Beecher's questions went back to him sounding like he wasn't being a dick about it anymore, too genuinely curious for that, like it was really sinking in.

"Wasn't happy about it." Miguel admitted, and this was a lot of fucking honesty for in here. Seriously. Miguel pivoted away from it, because that was enough of an admission. "I didn't tell your crazy ass how to handle your mess with Schillinger, you know." 

Tobias looked bemused for a moment, watching him. "Actually, you sort of did. You just did it after the fact." 

"Well, it was a dumb fucking plan." Miguel strongly reiterated, because it was, and he was going to keep pointing that out every chance he got. 

Yeah, yeah, he understood. It was fucking dangerous though, and that still bothered Miguel. Thinking Tobias was dead back then? Knowing he was still in danger now? Yeah, fucking bothersome. Miguel had to admit that, to himself, anyway. 

"Meanwhile, you're being a genius." Beecher countered easily, judgy little eyebrow cocked at him and everything. "I mean, why would a person want _the warden of the prison they're confined in_ to owe them a favor? Nope. Much smarter to just piss 'em off and not cash in that golden ticket." 

Just because that was an excellent point? Didn't mean it wasn't fucking annoying. 

"Screw you. It's the principle of the thing. He shit--" Most of Miguel's prior vehemence was missing, and even he realized that. 

"--all over you? Yeah, I've heard it." Tobias cut him off ruefully, but there was something calm and companionable in their discussion now. "I don't agree with you on everything, but that doesn't mean that I think you're-- we're still friends, Miguel. We're just both idiots." 

Steady again, and looking right at Miguel, seeing _all_ of him. It felt like... Tobias _did_ know Miguel, and would take it all, even this admittedly nasty side of Miguel, without bitching about it anymore. 

"You are maybe. I'm not." Miguel's rote counter was also quiet, lacking a little bit of heart. Just a little, though. 

"Uh-huh, sure." Beecher humored him with a little nod. (Like a dick.) Then he got all thoughtful again, but it was back to being a bit playful, in that dark way they were. "We both have a lot of pent up rage and resentment. That's never good." 

"Yeah, well. Life isn't sunshine and fucking daisies, Tobias. Getting pissed off is normal." Miguel offered with a shrug. "We'll manage." 

"We're doing great so far." 

"Hey, I'm doing better than you, man." Miguel felt his grin return, with Tobias's good-humored, sharp sarcasm. "If I heard that motherfucker was retiring, I wouldn't try to keep him here with me." 

"Schillinger being here _with me_ is merely an unfortunate side effect, it wasn't my main goal. You know this." 

"I do." Miguel said reluctantly. "You said some messed up shit to me before your damn pirate song, you know." 

He should've dropped it, but it still rankled a bit. He knew, though, that it was because Tobias had been pissed. Shit you said when angry was just that a lot of times -- shit. Venting frustration, like Miguel beating the bag yesterday. 

"I did." Tobias's slow nod was much less dickish, shifting easily again, like he also had a talent for. Back to the real guy, in the middle of the chaos. "I didn't-- I don't agree with your tactics, Miguel. And your joy was upsetting." 

Miguel knew that. Knew he should've-- Tobias wasn't the one he'd wanted to upset. He'd _meant_ those revealing words he'd said -- should've been more careful. 

"But I didn't mean what I said about you." Tobias held his gaze again briefly, like it truly mattered. "I was pissed off." 

Miguel nodded, breaking the look only after it was clear that he'd accepted Tobias's almost apology as well. He leaned back in his chair, seriousness put to bed. He shifted away from it just as easily as Tobias could, but he knew it probably meant something, how it felt like the heaviness had lifted. How he felt a bit more at peace now that they'd aired everything out. But Miguel distracted himself from that with a previous unserious curiosity which hadn't been satisfied. "Fuck, you're such an asshole you probably didn't tell me what you were doing with your books the other day 'cause you think I'm too fucking dumb to understand, right? That's some bullshit." 

"It would be indeed. Why would I waste my time seeking the company of someone stupid, exactly?" Tobias said genuinely, even a little surprised maybe, like he hadn't thought of Miguel as dumb at all. (Which Miguel wasn't, of course, but it was oddly nice to know Beecher wasn't an idiot either and he was aware of that, too.) "It wasn't that at all. It's..." It was almost like Tobias wanted to hide under the hand he briefly rubbed over his face. "What I was doing was stupid. And pointless, and I didn't think telling you would be the best idea." 

"Stupid and pointless? Hell, that's pretty much every day in here, Tobias." Miguel said calmly, signaling that he really wanted to know, anyway. Miguel wouldn't be an asshole, okay? He wouldn't judge. 

Probably. Depended on what it was, and all. 

"True." Beecher gave it up with another long exhale. "I was -- I was looking into drafting a formal letter making a case for bringing back conjugals. To be sent to the governor, maybe, or other politicians, and the newspapers. It wouldn't carry any weight. It's a symbolic gesture, like a statement of support. I mean, getting prominent signatories is also part of it. My father has a law firm. I'm sure McManus knows some prisoners rights and human rights groups. It's probably been done. Nothing would come of it, really." 

Huh. Beecher said that like it meant something, too, but he didn't want to get Miguel's hopes up or something. The last time they'd talked, before all the bullshit, had been about conjugals. And Tobias... yeah, it had seemed like he'd actually given a fuck. On Miguel's behalf more than his own, even. 

"For you?" Miguel fished for clarification. He had an inkling, but he could've been wrong. "Your wife wise up and come crawling back or something?" Miguel held up his hands a little, hedging his bets against the things he knew he'd said about her. "Any shit I talked about her? I like, didn't mean it. I'm sure she's a real nice lady." 

She wasn't. Sure, Miguel had never technically met her, but he knew the part where she'd ditched Tobias while he was in hell and took their kids when he needed family the most. She hadn't even waited two fucking years before giving up on him. That was enough for Miguel -- she was a total fucking cruel bitch as far as he was concerned. 

Beecher snorted, not buying it for a second. "You're lacking some sincerity there, and it's fine. Not for me." He was staring ahead, looking past Miguel more than directly at him. 

"For me?" Yeah, that had been his inkling. 

And oh, okay, fucking _fine_ then. Miguel felt a lot less, like vulnerable or stupid or whatever, for admitting everything he had earlier. Tobias leaving him alone... yeah, that would be a loss. Sure, Miguel had had plenty of those -- shit, his life had held far more loss than gain -- but that didn't mean he wanted to add Tobias to the list. Really, he'd known that ever since that brief period he'd thought Beecher might've been capped. 

"Nothing will come of it." Beecher was busy repeating himself, like it was important Miguel not misunderstand and suddenly start thinking good shit happened in this hellhole or something. (Miguel was well fucking aware.) 

"You didn't tell me... because what? You didn't want to get my hopes up?" Miguel surmised casually, leaning back in his chair and just chilling now. Their shit was sorted, and Beecher? Well, he'd been trying to do something _nice_. For Miguel. Honestly, the last person who had done anything like that in here for him was a priest. And that priest? Was a lot less okay with Miguel's ugly sides than Tobias apparently now was. 

"Something like that." Beecher confirmed, relaxing fully into being himself, none of the masks or rhymes or sneers. 

Miguel wondered, for just a second mind you, how many people even got to see this much of Tobias being real, being human, in here. (Being thoughtful and kind, sort of.) 

"You know I don't have any fucking hopes, Tobias. Not really. It's not my thing. Told you -- I'm not stupid." Miguel meant every word, really. He'd gone down those paths, the ones Father Mukada and Sister Reimondo had urged him down. First with his baby boy, then with his grandfather. It always ended in his heart getting ripped the fuck out, and the hope turning to shit. 

"I know." Beecher said it solemnly, like he was in fact fully aware. Shit, he probably was. Miguel had maybe talked about his grandfather, and he'd definitely mentioned his kid. Beecher had been sincere those times too, in his sympathies and condolences. 

Sincerity was also fucking rare to see in here. Yeah, maybe Miguel had been twitching and agitated over the mess with Tobias for a reason. He had... these _were_ rare things. And he'd had a taste of them, here in the library and in the halls. With Beecher. 

Had 'em back now, didn't he? Maybe he should've let it go, because it was doomed. Any light in here was doomed, controlled by the Hacks and the system, like all the buzzing doors, turning keys, and flicking switches that were out of his reach. 

He hadn't let it go, though. He'd come to the library, to see if it could still exist. 

And it did, still here and letting more earnest truths spill from his lips. Somebody to share with, to give voice to the things in his head-- yeah, it mattered. "I mean, I started, for a second there, with my kid. To like plan for a future. To want things I never thought I'd get... but look how that fucking turned out. Better off without hoping for anything more than this." Miguel ended his musings with another shrug. 

"Maybe." Tobias had his considering expression back. Always took Miguel seriously with shit like this, like he was actually listening and thinking about it. It's one of the reasons they got along maybe. They both liked to ponder shit, they both listened. And they could both handle a nice sharp turn into insanity and pitch black fucking humor. 

Beech wasn't taking that turn now, though. He stayed full of reflection, even as his shrug joined Miguel's. "Maybe not." The way he said it, it was as if Tobias wanted to discuss that further, too. Maybe some other day they would, since it seemed almost like Tobias wanted to make a counterargument. He dropped it for the moment, though. "Either way, I wanted to do it anyway. I don't really care for the idea of no more you's, Miguel. I find you worth having around." Eyes on his again for that last part, not letting them shift into something flippant. He _meant it_ , and wanted to make sure Miguel knew his feelings on the matter. Again. 

Well, shit. That was... Miguel wasn't really used to that, and that was maybe the shittiest thing he'd admitted to himself today. Plenty of people? Hell, most people, would've been fine if he just blinked out of fucking existence or never been here at all. 

"Shit, man. You going to try to keep me in here next?" Miguel teased, his small grin trying to keep the moment from landing too heavily on Tobias. Admitting that shit wasn't easy, after all. Best not to call too much attention to it and make Tobias feel uncomfortable. Miguel knew now, he _felt it,_ and that was enough. 

"No." Tobias said quickly, and really firmly, with his own little grin. (Friendly, yep. No denying it -- that's what it fucking was.) "You, I will happily shove out of the gates. I meant -- around in general. Alive." 

Miguel ducked his head in a half nod. "I get what you meant." On a whim, or to make it known that he truly understood and -- look, it definitely meant something important to him, as surprising as that fucking was -- Miguel lightly kicked Tobias's foot under the table. In like solidarity. (Understanding.) 

"I know. After all, you're not stupid." It was that balancing act that Beecher was insanely good at pulling off -- a little bit teasing, a whole lot real. 

Miguel stuck with mostly teasing. "Worth it even when I'm pissing you off?" 

"Even then." When Beecher did his own little half nod, unlike Miguel, he didn't break his steady eye contact. 

"Goes both ways, you know?" Miguel's voice was lower, gruffer, almost making him clear his throat, as he returned to digging his fingernail into that groove in the table, gaze half on it and half on Beecher. "I mean, you even keep breaking our fucking show tune deal and everything, yet here I am missing the nature show for this, Bowie." 

Miguel was still admitting shit, really. It didn't matter that he was, did it? Tobias already knew. 

"We can probably catch the end." Tobias announced, pushing up from his chair. "I'm sure you can watch a few more things get eaten." 

Beecher was leaving, but he was-- the words and the way he was standing there, hands on the chair back again-- it wasn't like last time at fucking all. He was waiting for Miguel to join him. 

Miguel did, getting up with the drag of his chair and a long inhale. He added his casual thoughts on the subject, because yeah, they were back to the way they'd been before. (Except... maybe not. Felt easier, maybe. Quietly closer, with Beecher admitting shit too, and looking out for him, in his way.) "Hey, it's cool when they escape, too. Just, you know, doesn't happen very often." 

"That it does not." Beecher agreed. 

"So why not enjoy watching the fucked up circle of life and eating?" Miguel explained his thoughts on it, since he liked the nature shows more than Beecher did, as they slowly made to leave. They were talking more than walking at the moment, standing by the table. "If you go into it rooting for everything to make it out alive, the show gets real fucking depressing real fucking fast, man. Can't pin your hopes on that shit. So why not just sit back and watch the fucked up circle of life where the strong devours anything it can catch?" Miguel summed up, as he strolled over to stand next to Tobias. "Enjoy that, ''cause that's life and it's all you're getting, you know?" 

Beecher blinked at him, staying beside him as they paused. "You're aware I'm not just an antelope that was lucky enough to escape, right?" 

Miguel snorted with his real humor fully restored, bumping Beecher's shoulder at that amusing fucking thought. "So now we're speaking in fucking metaphors? You ain't a metaphor for anything, Tobias." Miguel stated firmly, raising his eyebrows, while Beecher stayed right there listening. "That's cute, hermano -- antelopes? They don't bite off the lion's dicks, man. I mean, that shit would be amazing if they did -- but nah. For one thing, it's the ladies that do the hunting there. But you aren't a nature show, Tobias. I'm not sitting back and watching you like that." 

"Sure, sure." Tobias eyed him sarcastically. 

"Maybe a little." When Miguel shrugged this time, it brushed against the man as they stayed just shooting the shit, side by side, but faces turned to speak and watch each other. "In the beginning, maybe I just found you interesting to watch fucking go." Miguel admitted, because apparently it was another day full of that, before turning it into an assurance Beecher had pretty much earned from him. "Haven't seen you that way in a long time, hermano. You're my fucked up friend, right? Some fucking how." 

It shouldn't-- it wasn't possible and it was a bad fucking idea. This wasn't kindergarten. You were supposed to go making friends, especially not with crazy white motherfuckers. But the thing was? It had sort of snuck up on him. Miguel hadn't _meant_ to. He was used to sudden changes, not slow ones. His whole life had been hard hits and swerves coming up on him fast, over before it even registered, dealt with immediately. 

But this. 

He'd just found the fucker interesting. And like, hung around too much. By the time he'd briefly thought the Nazi had offed Tobias... he was _Tobias_. And Miguel had _felt it_. Whether it was a good idea or not to feel shit like that, to miss anyone in this shithole... 

...It wasn't a good idea. It was fucking bad, and stupid, but yeah-- it had crept up before Miguel had noticed. And now it was just _there_. Feelings of friendship or kinship or whatever, in Oz, where it definitely didn't fucking belong. But this little impossibility was Miguel's now, and he just had to deal with it. (Maybe-- maybe if it didn't belong here, he didn't either? Or some shit like-- forget it. Best not to get all philosophical at the moment.) Just had to roll with it. Because he had, all over again-- missed Beecher, when they had their pissy little disagreement. 

"Ah, good to know." Beecher said, nodding with only a little bit of humorous mockery. Still mostly real. 

"Still not supposed to have those in here. Not in Oz, man." Miguel shook his head with a sigh, and maybe bumped that crazy fucker's shoulder again as they finally started towards the door. 

Tobias's mouth quirked more than ever. "Yeah, well, you're probably not supposed to shit on a man's face, either. I mean, it's not explicitly stated in the rules..." 

They walked out of the library together, Miguel snickering at that, and went to rejoin like... the wild kingdom or something. 

Maybe it _was_ all about the metaphor. 

Miguel didn't fucking think so, though. Couldn't fit Beecher in a box, or tell a pretty story about his meaning. Not to Miguel. He was just... Tobias. Bowie. His friend. Maybe he couldn't figure out what the fuck that meant, either, or how it had happened. Shouldn't happen in here at all, and Miguel had not been kidding about that. 

Didn't change the fact that it had, though. 

Just had to figure it out, like every other fucking thing. 

But it's not like they didn't have plenty of spare time and shit. 

***  
End

**Author's Note:**

>  **Author's Notes** : I wasn't kidding when I said this was a slowburn. Miguel took this long to embrace them being friends, after all. Barring unforeseen changes as I flesh things out, they will not be doing any explicit getting together until the very end of this series, which is going to wrap up around the S2 finale, with the end of Miguel's "take the eyes" storyline. (I have several fics in this series in various stages of being written, and a basic mental outline for the story beats/events.) 
> 
> Up next: another fic (tentatively titled "Lucky Blessings and Lollipops") wherein Ryan makes another appearance and actually steals a POV this time, which will be the last fic set during the time period before Keller lands in Oz.


End file.
